Out Of Rhythm
by Val-Creative
Summary: Lance borrows her pen on Monday, August 21st of this early semester, right around 1:52pm. Pidge doesn't hesitate to say yes. She doesn't know why. Except that her mouth feels dry and Pidge's hand shakes for a moment when Lance's fingertips brush over her skin. /Modern AU. Plance. Oneshot.


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Lance borrows her pen on Monday, August 21st of this early semester, right around 1:52pm.

They're right in the middle of AP Literature class. Mr. Dos Santos announces a pop quiz. Pidge's desk sits in the center row, towards the back, and Lance's own desk is beside hers.

He rummages through his bright blue, striped backpack, making a low, distressed noise.

Lance then whistles softly at her, drawing in Pidge's full attention. Pidge and him aren't _friends_ exactly — they don't live in the same neighborhood, and only went to the same public school for third grade before Lance disappeared to a private Catholic academy.

Well, he came back eventually, more outspoken and flirtatious than before, quickly gaining popularity among the student body for not only Lance's natural and bold charisma, but also his excessive, undeniable wealth since rumors flew around that Lance's family apparently owned close to six hundred thousand dollars in land properties and finances and a mysterious, sizeable inheritance.

Her parents are not even close to _rich_ as teachers and scientists. But that doesn't matter to her. Not really. Pidge has always had food on her plate and a roof over her head. That's enough for her. She wants to be able to pay off her loans after studying at her chosen university.

That day, Pidge wears cargo pants and Matt's long-sleeve, maroon hoodies. Like she does most of the time. Not Gucci or Prada or _Chanel_. Lance asks for her pen, and Pidge doesn't hesitate to say yes.

She doesn't know why.

Except that Pidge's mouth feels dry and her hand shakes for a moment when Lance's fingertips brush over her skin. His cinnamon-brown hair has been slicked up with gel, fashionably tousled and handsome, Lance's bangs turn auburn against the gleam of yellowing sunlight.

Lance whispers a _thank you_ , the corner of his rosy-brown mouth twitching into a genuine and lighthearted smile. His dark blue eyes linger over her before Mr. Dos Santos calls for everybody's attention.

And then… _it's over_.

When next Thursday hits, with more sunshine and rising temperatures, Pidge wonders about her borrowed and favorite pen. It had actually been Matt's originally when he was enlisted by the NASA space program. There's no NASA printed on it, but it's a metallic green and feels satin-smooth to the touch.

It reminds her that Matt is still around.

Or at least a piece of him is _here_ with her. And yet, Lance still carries her pen around.

He doodles with it, surrounded by his usual friends and their friends, his long legs crossed together in the grass, hunching over and possibly tuning out the conversation. Pidge has considered asking for it back, and always comes with an excuse — she's gonna be _late_ to her next class, she'll ask _tomorrow_ , not _right_ now.

Sometimes, Lance catches her staring obviously across the quad, creasing his brown nose and grinning. Pidge swallows and pretends to not notice him, rubbing at her blushing face in aggravation. It's so _stupid_.

During the last period of classes for Friday, she realizes her gym shirt is dumped in the laundry back home.

Her palm slams heavily against her locker door. While the other girls file out, Pidge escapes out into the hallway and folds her arms, debating on whether or not to go to the office.

" _Heyy_ ~!" To her bemusement, Lance appears out of nowhere and saunters up to her, pressing one of his forearms to the wall. "Pidgeon, what's with the long face?"

"I told you to stop calling me that," she mutters, narrowing her eyes as Lance glances her over curiously. Unlike her, he's wearing the orange and white combo of their high school's official colors in shorts and a tee-shirt.

"Mr. Iverson is gonna mark you down for not getting into uniform," he points out.

"I _KNOW_ that…"

At the slight bite in her tone, Lance straightens up and frowns. When he vanishes into the boys locker room, Pidge runs her hands over her lips and cheeks, mentally berating herself. Why is she being such a jerk to him? Why does she act so weird about him and flustered and _why_ does he notice it? _All_ of the time?

"Here!" Lance yells, poking his head out the door and waving a hand. He tosses what looks like a crumple of dirtied gym clothes into Pidge's arms. "You're missing your gym shirt, am I right?"

The white-and-orange patterned shirt reeks like perspiration and spicy mustard. It's definitely one of Lance's extra shirts. Pidge slips it over her ribbed, white tanktop. The material hangs off her frame like a _nightshirt_. Several sizes too large.

With mild exasperation, she accepts it. Her grades aren't _suffering_ for this.

Lance steps out from behind the door, glancing over her again and rubbing the back of his neck. "What?" Pidge asks, trying to not sound so harsh like before.

"Nothin'…" He cocks his head, smiling widely. "Kinda looks cute on you."

Despite her heart fluttering, Pidge's instinct is to go defensive. People _don't_ say that to her. People aren't ever nice to her and would rather bully her about her oversized glasses or the wild state of her curly, brown hair, and they _don't_ think she's cute. They just _don't_. "Shut up, Lance."

That's when the bell rings.

 **.**

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If it wasn't 90 degrees out, she wouldn't mind running the mile.

"Let's go, cadets! Hup hup hup!" Iverson barks into his megaphone as if he's some kind of hardass army recruiter walking a military base. He may actually think that, Pidge supposes, pushing herself to go faster.

The more athletic boys have already finished their run. Keith stretches out his muscles by the fence alone, lifting his right arm and crooking it over the top of his head. Rolo catcalls Nyma passing nearby on the track, laughing uproariously as she huffs and flips him off. She spots Lance over the bleachers, talking with Kinkade, who is Iverson's student-teacher aide, offering Kinkade an unopened water bottle and a pout.

She should have been concentrating instead of oogling Lance. Again.

Pidge miscalculates her next step, twisting her ankle and collapsing onto the rubbery, hot track with enough force to rattle the bones of her teeth.

"Whoa!" Hunk jogs to reach her, grabbing onto Pidge's elbow. "You good?" He's one of her few peers who can understand engineering and science on the level she does. It also helps that Hunk has never bullied her either. He's very much a pacifist, but has stuck up for Pidge more than once.

" _Yeah_ …" Pidge grumbles, hoisting herself up to stand. She's gonna be limping all day, oh god…

Oh… …

The pain should be _excruciating_ when she steps on her injured foot, but all Pidge feels is an immediate, drowning sense of wooziness. Hunk must see it on her face because he just stands there and murmurs " _uh oh_!" and everything goes black.

Pidge regains consciousness at some point, disorientated and gasping in.

Iverson orders everybody in her gym class to head inside, with Kinkade dividing the teams and encouraging them to play kickball until the end of the hour. She doesn't feel the ground. The person cushioning her then is ordered to get her to the nurse's office.

She wants to protest when Hunk carries her, gently maneuvering them inside.

Wait, _not_ Hunk.

"I've got you, don't worry…" _Lance_ says, brushing his lips lightly against her reddened, sunburned earlobe. "You're okay, Pidge…"

Pidge grits her teeth, moaning as the nurse examines her ankle and calls it a _sprain_ , icing her up and giving her a low dose of painkillers. Her dad hurries over from the university, dropping both of his evening lectures to take Pidge to the hospital.

And then it's September 3rd, around 5:15pm.

Lance sits on the floor of her living room, doodling on a Post-It note. The metallic green pen flashes. He smooths the note over Pidge's brace with a grinning, self-satisfied flourish.

 _nice one, pidgeon. -lover boy lance_

Little hearts replace the dots over the i's and Pidge still feels her mouth go dry, when his dark blue eyes roam over her mouth and chin and her own golden-brown eyes, like he's attempting to memorize every feature. The nickname Lance sticks after their gym class begon whispering around him and Pidge. She doesn't care.

The pen clicks shut.

"You keep it," Pidge mumbles, as he stands up with his bookbag, holding out the pen.

"Can I keep you too?"

" _Lance_ ," she says, staring open-mouthed.

When he chuckles, Pidge groans and hurls a pillow at his direction. Lance ducks by the staircase, bumping into Pidge's mom and stammering out an apology, rushing out the front door.

This is gonna be a _disaster_ of a relationship.

She's already excited.

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 _Voltron isn't mine. Alright alright alright alright yes I'm posting for the Pidge Holiday Exchange and I was assigned to beatlemaniacinthetardis on Tumblr! I kind of somehow made this a Mean Girls/TATBILB vibe and I'm not sure how lmaoooo but HEY IF YOU LIKED THIS,,,, please leave a nice word or two! Thanks!  
_


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